TFL make a killing from the carnival

I blame Transport For London and my own stupid fecking principles for the gash I have on my cheek following an assault on the 24 bus.

On Friday I put £10 on my pay as you go Oyster card. This will generally last me a long time for as you know, I'm a cyclist.

On Sunday I joined Kelly and her Red Stripe crew at the Notting Hill carnival. I took the tube but when I got to Westbourne Park, owing to the sheer number of people, there was nowhere to swipe my oyster which meant the whole single fare would be deducted (£4) I asked an attendant where I could swipe it and he assured me that it didn't matter and I would not be charged the full fare.

"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes," he responded.
I believed him.

(The usual oyster fare is just over £2)

Later, after much mirth and merriment, it was time to go home. Jumped on the tube then in Camden hopped on the bus, swiped my card and sat down.

The driver comes up to me and tells me there's no money on my oyster. I tell him that can't be true. I swipe it again, see there are insufficient funds say I don't understand this and sit back down asking him to take me home anyway (oh thou invisible spirit of red stripe - Othello)

So yes, here the story gets murkier as I say I'm not moving, Transport for London has lied to me, Transport for London can cover the cost. Another passenger offers to pay my fare. The driver won't accept it but I also tell her to hold on to her cash. There's a girl at the back telling me to "get off the fucking bus". I tell her that I won't because this morning my oyster had lots of money on it, enough to get me home.

The bus isn't moving. Eventually, the girl at the back, sitting with her boyfriend, moves to get off the bus. Before doing so she comes right up to me, her nose millimetres from mine and starts threatening me. I don't know what she's saying because I am saying "get out of my face, get out of my face, get out of my fucking face."

Eventually I push her away and she swoops down on me. My own hands are no match for hers as I'm seated and she's standing over me so I defend myself with the only thing at my disposal. My feet. She lunges, my legs push her off, she lunges again, my boots meet her chest. It's effective, her boyfriend grabs her away, but the damage has been done, my cheek is all wet. I wipe it and my blood wears me like a glove.

I decide to call the police. I'd had my run in with them after I'd separated from Kelly to go to the loo and they'd cordonned off all the roads back to her. "Turn right then right again," would say one set of police, which I did only to be met by another set saying the same thing, on and on (so yes, I actually spent a few hours of the festival on my own) Now though, I wanted them to keep me safe.

The police come on to the bus and on discovering I've been at the carnival, ask how much I've had to drink. "Oh is this what it's going to be about?" I ask, quite crestfallen. Then I hear someone say, the driver I think, that I've been "aggressive". I want to laugh but my cheek feels tight. I tell the police I won't report the assault because the girl has fled. They tell me to "get off the bus."

"I called you you know, not the driver, not another passenger, me but I will get off the bus because you won't help me so there's no point." Kelly texts asking if I'm home and I call her and cry. I blub as I walk the two miles home.

Why did I call the police? Because I wanted the driver to know, I wanted the people I'd held up to know, that I didn't feel that what I was doing was wrong. Admittedly, had I not been drunk and tired, I'd have got off the bus spitting my own personal nails at Transport For London, wouldn't have sat on it defiant.

How much did I drink? It doesn't matter. The cut on my cheek was still bleeding yesterday morning. My son came home asking how I did it. "I fell," I told him. My ex laughed: "Did you keel over?!" I shook my head. "It's a long story."